


Two Wrongs Make A Right

by writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Cliche, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Crush at First Sight, Don't Try This At Home, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by The Perks of Being a Wallflower, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tropes, fast scorch, fuck slow burn, technically not underage but idk whatever, think of this credence as a cross between himself and patrick, this is illegal i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9275036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: The English Sub is just as discerning as Mister Anderson, and remaining in the shadows, ignoring the pain and exhaustion is no longer an option for Credence.It's time he stepped into the light.[this also has no real plot and i am sorry but not]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gods and Monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9031718) by [pineapplebreads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplebreads/pseuds/pineapplebreads). 



> this is what happens when youre trying to edit and you throw Perks of Being A Wallflower on and you forget how DAMN PRETTY ezra is in that movie. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS.  
> asdfghjkl;  
> anyway.  
> have some extra porn while you wait for an update to the uber porny- victorian au.
> 
>  
> 
> also gods and monsters is so great but slow burn is my enemy >.> love ya tho!

Senior year. The year of a thousand fuckups and non-stop beatings at home on Friday nights.

Credence couldn’t wait for it all to end, whether with a stolen bottle of vodka and Benadryl or just the Benadryl. Moving through the hallways, Credence tried to ignore the goading voices and the pathetic chants of the cheerleaders clustered near lockers.

His two best friends in the whole world, Tina and Newt were going to be waiting for him after he finished his detention, they promised.

He’d been traveling through the last week in a daze and hadn’t even noticed that there was a substitute teacher in English until he’d been handed back a paper with a ‘D’ in bright red.

Tina had elbowed him in the side and hissed, “What happened?”

He honestly didn’t know. Between the last beating that made it impossible to sleep for three nights straight, and the pain he’d experienced from starving all weekend, it all blurred together and came to a head in resulting in a shitty English essay.

That was how he found himself walking into detention, and finding a completely unfamiliar man behind Mister Anderson’s desk.

“Barebone is it? Looks like you’re the lone ranger today, have a seat.”

Credence gulped, and did so, tucking his bag as close to his chest as he could behind the desk.

“Tell me, what’s going on with you? From what I hear from your other teachers, you’ve seemed to struggle this semester, and not just in English. I want to help you. I really do. Being a teacher isn’t a noble profession for nothing after all.”

Credence glanced up; finding the man giving him a kind smile, and it was like a hammer to a flower vase. He blinked, and prayed, _prayed_ to anyone who was listening that he wouldn’t start crying.

His eyes were already stinging.

“I’m sorry, sir, I just, I haven’t been the best that I could be this year.”

The man frowned,

“No, there’s no need for any of that. It’s just Mister Graves. You don’t have to be your best. Just, tell me what’s wrong.”

Credence was already shaking his head.

“Nothing, nothing is wrong with me.”

It was the thing he’d been telling himself for months, years now, and it still tasted foul on his tongue.

He blinked again, and he could feel his body ignoring his wishes, and wetness streaked down his cheeks, before he could lift a hand to wipe them away, he knew Mister Graves had seen them.

“Hey. Hey. Look, I was going to have you re write your essay… but I can see now that you’re probably not up for that. Do you want to go somewhere?”

Credence looked up from where he’d been boring a hole into the desk in front of him, and found Mister Graves standing right beside him. He couldn’t help jumping a bit, and hugging his bag to his chest so hard he could feel a pen or pencil jabbing against his side.

“What?”

Mister Graves was holding out a hand, right in front of him, not quite eye level and he stared at it for a moment before he decided to take it.

*

The quiet and dark haired kid with the haunted eyes. That would be how a novelist would describe him. Percival found himself asking around about him, about the Barebone kid. From what he could tell, his home life was less than optimal, and from what Anderson had told him, usually English class was where he flourished, and did his best work.

It just about broke his heart when he saw the kid holding back tears, and he knew from the kid’s record that he’d never had a detention in his life.

He didn’t want to contribute any more misery to the kid’s life, so he did something incredibly stupid. By the time he was already putting on his own seatbelt, and looking over to ensure the kid did the same, it was no longer a generous gesture, it was a fucking insane idea.

There was a restaurant that had the best milkshakes and burgers in town and it was only a few blocks from the high school, so Percival didn’t even have to go that far. Didn’t have to drive very long, and try not to keep from looking over at the kid.

What was it about him?

Why did he always have a weakness for the pretty fragile things?

His sister called it a ‘ _saving-people-thing’_ and said he was addicted to it. To playing the hero in the daylight when most people laughed at the idea of yet another superhero movie.

The kid, Credence, was so small, curled into his side of the booth, and he clung to his book bag like it was a lifeline in a storm at sea.

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

It was an easy ‘first date’ type of question that should have made him cringe to even put to words, but when he saw Credence look over at him, with something like more than the usual fear or exhaustion he usually saw there, another piece of his heart broke off, hit the floor, like that damn rose in the fairy tale.

“Strawberry.”

Percival gave him a smile, gentle, slow,

“Okay. Let’s split a milkshake. Unless you’d rather just have a burger and a coke maybe?”

Credence was already shaking his head,

“I’ve never had a milkshake before… not a good one at least. The school cafeteria doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

Credence’s cheeks were flushing, and he dropped his gaze to the off white somewhat stained table, and Percival couldn’t help the laugh that tickled its way out of his throat,

“Oh Credence, no one knows better than me. I’ve only been here one month, and I bring my lunch every day. I only made that mistake twice. Shame on me.”

There.

That coaxed a smile, or at least, the hint of one, to begin at the corners of Credence’s mouth, and Percival would have been caught looking if the waitress hadn’t come by, to take their order, and forced him to _stop staring_ at the kid.

Just a kid.

He’s just a kid, who doesn’t really need saving. Just a bit of gentleness.

*

Credence was lost. He had no idea what was happening to him, but he found, he almost didn’t care. He had never tasted anything so delicious, so cold and yet so addictive, and it almost made him relax. Mister Graves was so nice, and he said that he should have some food to take home, to explain to his mother that he’d been late coming home because he’d forgot the time, gotten caught up in the library. The man was insisting on trying to get him that burger that looked so good on the display on the window.

“Oh it’s okay. She knows about the detention. The principle called her.”

His hands still burned from the slap of his belt, and it was why he hadn’t let go of the icy glass the milkshake had been in. He knew he’d probably get new wounds to add to the ones on his palms that night, but he didn’t mind. Detention wasn’t all that bad, if it was with Mister Graves.

“Credence. I’m sorry. Truly I am. I grew up with an alcoholic father, but he only ever broke things, he never hurt me. I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

Credence swallowed thickly, and looked over at Mister Graves, as the car came to a stop back in the school parking lot, and he felt something hot inside his chest, trying to claw its way up his throat.

When the man reached over to put a hand on his shoulder, he didn’t shrink away or wince, even though there were fresh welts on his back and probably even bleeding through his shirt, which was why he never took his jacket off.

“Mister Graves… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Wide eyed innocent wasn’t something he pulled out very often, it never saved him from a beating, but sometimes it worked on other people, and his substitute English teacher was no different.

Like the time he’d used it on Tina’s mom, or even Newt’s older brother and it had gotten him out of a lot of things.

“Credence…”

The hand tightened, and the pain wasn’t even enough to distract from the way the man was looking at him, sympathy tinged with something else entirely, something dark, something that made the forbidden thing in his chest roar to life, as the hand shifted, sliding along the fake leather of his jacket to his neck, up further, fingers grazing his hair, getting so long it could almost rival Tina’s bob cut, and suddenly, he forgot how to breathe.

“Mister Graves, I should be going now.”

He blinked, and the man was already outside the car, swinging around the front to open his door for him, and smiling and telling him to have a good weekend.

It wasn’t until he got home that he saw Tina and Newt parked across the street from his house, and he wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing. Had another blackout, and just missed the entirety of detention.

When they asked for gossip, for what Mister Graves _was like, was he strict? Did he bark at you? Make you write lines?_

Credence lied.

He lied and said that it was the most miserable hour of his life.

*

Percival got home and downed half a bottle of scotch in less than an hour. He swayed as he paced around his apartment, and tried to stop thinking about what would have happened if he had offered to drive the kid home, taken a wrong turn, and brought him here.

Lots and lots of very bad ideas.

The entire thing went beyond trying to save him, and was verging on illegal as well as immoral. He didn’t know quite what the hell was wrong with him.

The scotch had only made him regret not doing it, and that was _not_ what it was supposed to do. It was supposed to make it easier to forget him, to forget that he’d broken a dozen rules and let the kid skip out on a much needed detention.

Alcohol made everything hazier and that much clearer too. When he finally staggered off to bed, he couldn’t sleep. Not until he’d taken care of his problem.

The problem that had sprung to life almost when he’d been extremely foolish and touched the kid, just barely enough to mean anything, but certainly way past innocent gestures of comfort.

Who put their hand on a slender neck and rubbed their thumb beneath the ear hiding behind a dark wave of hair?

What the fuck.

He brought a hand down, sliding under the waistband of his boxers to palm himself with a strangled groan, and barely even touched over the head, finding it slick and nearly dripping. God he was pathetic.

It didn’t take much. All he did was picture the pink and plush lips on his mouth, at the side of his jaw, before finally relenting to his darker side, and imagining the kid on his knees, how it would feel to press his cock between those lips, and he was gone.

He stroked himself through his orgasm, knowing he’d made a mess, and not even caring or conscious enough to get up and clean off.

The scotch had hit him, and hit him hard.

He was just lucky the next day was Saturday.

It didn’t make the hangover any better, but it was a relief to know he didn’t even need to leave the house, not for anything, he could do his own laundry right there, and could make his hangover omelet and strong coffee, without having to put on pants.

He stumbled into the shower and didn’t come out until the water ran cold, and just tucked a towel around his waist, no clothing necessary.

The eggs cooked easily enough and the coffee brewing was just so delicious he wondered if it was the hangover, or the school’s coffee was really that shitty.

That night, he turned on the current football game, and only half paid attention. His sister had called him while he’d taken a nap in the afternoon, and he really didn’t feel like calling her back, three fingers of the remaining scotch in. So he didn’t.

He called her back in the morning, around eleven, when he knew she’d be in church with her family, and he could leave a message, and continue the phone tag.

He smirked when she texted him back a frowning face, and he shrugged in reply.

He sucked at texting back.

So he said.

Monday morning was just like any other, and the students looked about as miserable as he felt inside, but he was just glad the school wasn’t full of superheroes and no one could read minds.

He was wondering how Credence was.

He found himself watching the clock nearly as often as the front row of students did, and when the lunch bell rang, he almost jumped out of his seat.

The teachers’ lounge was packed, and he took a corner, and ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich as fast as he could, and then walked by the cafeteria, sort of a stroll, not like a shark, but maybe a little.

He felt guilty doing it, but there was something that breathed to life inside of him when he passed and saw the familiar head of dark hair, framed by a willowy girl with a similar hairstyle, and a boy with messy ginger curls.

Credence was all right.

Class time meant little to no staring or favoritism was allowed, but he still found himself looking, eyeing the new bruise he hadn’t been able to see from his angle outside the lunch room, which was purple and green on Credence’s left cheek.

It made him angry, and at the same time, not just at the kid’s family.

At himself.

He shouldn’t be getting involved.

It was too late.

*

Credence could swear he felt eyes on him all day. When he finally slumped into a seat in the last class of the day, English, he could hardly keep his own eyes open.

Half the class was presenting one paragraph from their final paper, and Mister Graves was giving a critique. Luckily Credence fell into the second half, and still had until tomorrow before he had to be in front of everyone and make a fool out of himself.

He didn’t even have one paragraph written.

He didn’t know where to start.

“Credence…”

He jerked to a start, and he realized the room was empty, but for Mister Graves himself, who was standing over his desk, concern etched into every line of his handsome face. His hair was dark except for the sides above his ears, where it was silver, shorter, and styled perfectly. He wondered if it felt as soft as it looked.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking like that.

“Y-yes, sir?”

“I’ve been trying to get you to answer for five minutes. I thought I was going to have to get the school nurse. What’s going on?”

Credence blinked his eyes and held them open wide, and relished the burn,

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“You don’t sleep very well, _any_ night, do you Credence?”

The internet in the library called it insomnia, but it wasn’t unconscious. He wasn’t unable to sleep for lack of trying, but merely kept awake by the pain in his back, or on his arms, or now his face.

“I don’t know what you mean sir.”

“Credence please. I told you it’s just Mister Graves.”

He nodded, feeling the waves of tiredness threatening to drown him again, and even the firm hand on his shoulder couldn’t make him focus.

He heard the man call his name again, but it sounded like it was from above water, and it was so far away.

When Credence opened his eyes again, and they didn’t burn anymore, it was dark out. Something soft was beneath him, and he looked down to find his hands covered in white, bandages.

He tried to sit up and he realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Instead, more bandages were crisscrossing over his chest, and stomach, and he was only in his boxers. Faded and grey, they rather looked like they might disintegrate if they got wet.

“What?”

His voice was a croak, and he didn’t recognize the room he was in, at all.

It was beautiful. There was fine wooden and chrome edged furniture in it, and beyond, through the open bedroom door, he could see a warm color palette, and more shiny metal trimmings.

“Credence. You’re awake.”

The voice of Mister Graves filled his ears, and he blinked rapidly, knowing he had to be dreaming. There was no way the man was here, now, and he must have passed out on the walk home.

“You fainted in class when I tried to help you out of your desk. I didn’t what else to do, so I carried you to my car, and brought you here.”

Credence just stared. The man sat down beside him on the bed, his weight nearly making him feel like he might tip over, and crash into his strong chest.

He suddenly hugged himself, bare arms trying to cover what skin of his chest was exposed.

“Hey, hey, don’t move too quickly. I don’t want you to tear those. Your back was pretty bad. You were bleeding through your shirt. I hope you know, I can’t just see that sort of thing and sit by. I called the CPS, they’re probably going to stop by in the morning if they aren’t there already.”

Credence dropped his arms and his jaw.

“What?”

Mister Graves licked his lips and sighed,

“Child protective services. Your sisters, they won’t be in any danger any longer, and neither will you. I mean, in a few more months when you graduate, you won’t have to worry about them anymore. You’ll be an adult, and you can conquer the world.”

He gave Credence a sad little smile, and somehow, nothing hurt worse than seeing that on the man’s face.

“But why am I here?”

Mister Graves looked a bit worried now, and he brought a hand to brace under his chin, shaking his head,

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want you to just get scooped up and taken away by those people. I just…” His head fell forward, and his hand covered his face, muffling his next words, but Credence heard them, “I fucked up so much this week, what was one more mistake?”

“You saved me. You healed me… kind of.”

Credence held up his hands again, and looked, really looked, and he couldn’t even feel any pain when he flexed his fingers, and when he lowered them, he found the man staring at him,

“I only did what anyone should have. Any responsible adult. I mean, selfishly, I’m still taking advantage of you. I should be helping you get dressed, sending you to a friend’s house for the next few weeks. But I’m not.”

Credence swallowed, and then found the words to ask,

“How are you being selfish?”

Mister Graves was biting his lower lip, and his eyes drifted down the length of Credence’s somewhat folded up body, pausing at his stomach, and then lifting back up to his face.

“I undressed you so that I could clean your wounds; make sure you weren’t in need of emergency medical attention. Then I put you in my bed, wearing only that. I think it should be obvious.”

Credence could feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest, and the heat he’d felt before, when Mister Graves had touched his neck last week was stirring to life, unspooling like some kind of demonic flower inside of him.

“This is your place?”

It was a stupid question.

Of course it was Mister Graves’ place.

The man nodded, and then there was a hand burning against his leg, gripping his thigh,

“Do you want me to leave? Call someone to come get you? Or maybe order pizza? I’m sure you’re starving. I heard you didn’t even eat lunch today.”

Credence heard a pounding in his head, likely a building headache from just that, hunger, but there was a deep seated need that was above all else, and it narrowed in on the way the man was looking at him still, and touching him.

“No. Please don’t leave me.”

His voice broke halfway through the sentence, but he managed to finish it, and Mister Graves was shifting closer, as the hand on his thigh moved higher.

He hoped that the man wouldn’t notice, but there was a dark spot on his boxers, and he could feel his cock aching, starting to harden and twitch without even being touched.

“Credence, tell me to stop.”

Mister Graves was close, so close now, he could count the freckles on his cheeks or his eyelashes, and Credence couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but shake his head, and lean in the final few inches between them.

*

The little gasp that escaped Credence’s throat when Percival let him come to him and let him truly initiate the kiss was so pure and so soft, he wondered if he had imagined it.

But the hand gripping his wrist, and guiding his palm from a somewhat innocent hold on the boy’s thigh to press against the lump in his boxers was sure, and true.

It wasn’t just in his mind.

He deepened the kiss, or tried to, by letting his tongue run along the seam of the boy’s mouth, finally tasting the mint of his chapstick and plush lips.

He didn’t want to hurt the boy, after all, he’d seen the truly horrific amount of welts and open wounds on his back before he’d taken care to wrap them up and ensure they could heal finally, but when he was drawn to get on the bed, looming just slightly over him, he decided as long as it was okay with Credence, he could keep going.

“Mister Graves, please…”

He didn’t even know what the boy was asking for, but he left the perfect mouth to begin kissing over the sharp jaw line, and gently pressed a kiss beside the bruise that was further up his cheek, before continuing down to the neck and the junction of his collarbone.

Credence was moving under him, writhing around and desperately rubbing his boxer covered cock against his hand, long fingers still tight around his wrist, telling him if anything, he definitely wanted that.

“Can I touch you, without this in the way?”

Percival shifted his hand, just slightly, to dip his fingers beneath the waistband of Credence’s boxers, and the whimper that escaped the boy’s lips was pure sin.

“Please.”

Percival smiled against the boy’s skin,

“Tell me something, have you ever been touched before? Like this?”

Credence was shaking his head, he could feel it, and he pulled back, retreating off his slim body just enough to help him out of his boxers, the front of which already had a sizable damp spot from his eagerness.

“Never. I wasn’t allowed to.”

Percival barely kept from rolling his eyes. Overly religious. That would do it.

“Don’t worry if it goes fast. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Credence was staring up at him, lips parted and eyes wide, and that was when Percival knew, that of course, the boy didn’t know what he was talking about.

“This.”

He put a hand to the boy’s cock, stroking along his entire length, and Credence’s hips stuttered, unconsciously trying to chase the sensation.

His eyes closed and his head fell back to hit the pillow, chest heaving as he panted for air.

“Oh sweet boy… you have no idea what it’s like.”

Credence shook his head, as if feverish, and was biting his bottom lip, still thrusting against Percival’s palm, of which he’d loosened the grip, almost wanting to try and delay as long as he could, but after all, he was young, too young, he chastened himself, and it wouldn’t take much to bring him back.

He remembered how it had been.

“It’s okay Credence. Come for me.”

He rubbed a thumb over the weeping head of the boy’s cock, and leaned back down to press a kiss to his swollen lips, feeling as the boy shuddered a gasp and spilled into his hand.

Almost concerned that he might cause the boy to pass out again if he did anything as scandalous as to attempt to lick the mess off his own hand, he merely gave a quick kiss to his forehead, and climbed off him to go wash his hands in the bathroom.

When he returned, Credence was somewhat still in the same position, but staring up at the ceiling, looking a bit, dazed.

“Are you okay?”

Credence blinked, and then looked over at him,

“I think so. I think I died. Are you an angel?”

Percival smiled, truly at that. It might have fallen into the ‘ _cheesiest pickup lines ever’_ bin over a decade ago, but hearing it from him was a completely different story.

“Not quite. Are you hungry? How about that pizza?”

Credence’s eyes dropped down from his face to about waist level, and he realized he was being ogled.

He’d forgone his usual routine of changing the second he got home from school into comfy stuff and simply shucked it all and thrown on a bathrobe before attempting to bandage the mess that had been Credence’s back.

“Um. What about you… Mister Graves? Don’t you want me to do anything?”

Yes.

No.

Everything.

Stay.

He blinked.

“Just get comfortable, and I’m going to make that call.”

He gave Credence a friendly smile and then tried to keep from running out of the room.

His hands were shaky as he dialed the phone, and even after he hung up. There were about five texts from his sister and one missed call from the school. Probably Principle Picquery about something.

About the skinny little fragile piece of temptation currently sitting on his bed, naked, and still shivering from his first orgasm.

Oh yeah. That.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

‘Saving people thing.’

His sister’s words echoed and bounced around his head, long after the pizza had been delivered and devoured. Credence pulled the small blanket off the end of his bed to wrap himself up in it to come out to the kitchen proper, and he kept shooting little smiles at Percival, expressions he had only ever seen the ghost of on the boy’s face.

Until now.

He was stunned after five minutes of staring off into space to hear his frequently repeated words thrown back at him, and there was a long fingered hand resting on his.

“Are you all right Mister Graves?”

He nodded and then finally made true eye contact with the boy. Dark twin pools of brown he would like to lose himself in, much more than any hazel glass of whiskey or scotch or rum were staring back at him.

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Can we… can we do that again?”

There was a hint of a blush kissing the boy’s cheeks again, and Percival found himself jealous.

He reached over and cupped one of them in a hand, and the boy nuzzled into his hold.

Holy shit.

‘He might just want this as badly as you do.’ He thought to himself.

“If you want.”

Credence nodded, and Percival was helpless to follow him back to his bedroom, not even caring when the blanket fell in a crumple to the floor.

He loosened the tie on his robe and stepped closer, wondering what the boy would do. Eager and shaky hands reached out, and pulled the halves of the robe apart, and Credence was putting his hands on him.

First innocently, gently touching over his ribs and up to palm his heart, beating so fast it was a miracle the boy couldn’t hear it, and then his other hand dipped lower, fingers grazing against his cock, hard and almost purple at the tip, slicking up his stomach with pre come.

“Wow.”

He grinned.

“What’s that? You can’t say that when you have… well, _that_.”

Credence was blushing again, and Percival supposed maybe he didn’t know quite how lucky he was. The world didn’t revolve around sexual prowess anyway.

“Can I uh, can I kiss you?”

“Sure yeah, you don’t have to ask…”

Credence was getting down on his knees, and Percival’s eyebrows lift at once as he realized what was happening.

Oh that.

Credence probably had no idea what he was actually asking, nor what he was attempting to do right there, but Percival could feel his knees wobble, and he put a hand on the boy’s cheek, rubbing gently over his jaw, pulling himself back.

“I need to sit down, before I fall down.”

The bed wasn’t far after all, and Percival ended up lying down, braced against the pillows behind him, as Credence meekly followed. He resumed his position, now kneeling on the softness of the sheets and blankets, and when he put his mouth back on Percival’s cock, he knew he shouldn’t look away, but the feeling was just too much, and his eyes fell shut without his permission.

Without sight, his other senses compensated, and his hands found Credence’s hair almost immediately, winding his fingers through the silky waves, trying not to pull too tightly.

“God… Credence. That feels incredible.”

It didn’t compare to his fantasies, no, it fucking blew them out of the water. The boy’s hands were bracing on his thighs, and he wasn’t even experimenting anymore, he was taking Percival as deep as he could, with seemingly little effort.

The second he felt the back of the boy’s throat graze over the head of his cock he was done. Toast. He was going to become addicted to the feeling, and if he wasn’t careful, Credence might be the last person he ever rescued.

Or at least brought home.

*

Credence pulled back and looked up at Mister Graves, hoping he’d done a good job. He’d only ever heard about the specifics from other students, and never dared to try and search for things when on the library computers.

Erasing browsing history was never good enough.

“Holy fuck. Credence. Get up here.”

He smiled sheepishly and climbed up the man’s body, letting him pull him close, for a strange sort of hug, with so much bare skin pressed against him, it was impossible to appreciate the gesture for what it usually was, a sign of affection between two people.

“So you liked it?”

Mister Graves was chuckling against him, the sound vibrating through his body, and making his skin seem to tingle, never mind how it affected his recovering cock.

“Sweet lord yes. You’re beautiful. You know that?”

Credence was already shaking his head, denying it.

Mister Graves kissed him soundly, halting his movements, and then rolled him over onto his back, before dropping a hand down to caress, not quite grasp at his cock.

“You are. I’ll tell you until you believe me, or until I run out of air, whichever comes first.”

Mister Graves was utterly serious; Credence could tell by the way the man’s eyes were darkening. Or maybe he was just still aroused, touching him as he was.

He had more skill and finesse than Credence, but he hoped one day he’d be able to keep up, and maybe last longer than a minute, or less when the man did things like that.

“Do you want to come in my mouth this time, or kiss until you do?”

Credence gulped.

“Would you?”

Mister Graves grinned,

“It would be my pleasure.”

Credence blinked, watching as the man started to shift down his body, kissing every exposed bit of skin he could, which was not much, considering almost all of his upper body was covered by white gauze, but when the man nipped and licked beside his navel, he was arching his back, never mind the ache it caused against his wrapped wounds.

“So sensitive…”

The man was rubbing a thumb over the head of his cock, and Credence found himself begging,

“Don’t do that. I’ll finish too soon, before you can put it in your mouth.”

All movement halted at once, and Mister Graves nodded,

“Of course. I apologize. Still, don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s really flattering.”

Mister Graves leaned down to lick the entire underside of the shaft, and Credence found himself falling backwards, pushing his head back against the pillows, hands fisting in the sheets at the side of his waist.

“Oh my god.”

“There you go. Let me hear you.”

His cock was enveloped completely by wet warmth, and he could feel a bit of a vibration that he realized was the man’s voice humming as he sucked on him, and it didn’t take more than a few moments of that to send Credence over the edge.

His toes curled and his heels scrambled for purchase against the slippery sheets, but Mister Graves’ firm hands on his thighs didn’t let him go far.

He was almost clawing to get away, to try and escape the sensation as it became too much, and he dimly felt Mister Graves put a biting kiss on his hip before crawling back up to hold him close again.

He drifted off not long after, with Mister Graves’ arms wrapped around him, and his forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

*

**END**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hell is empty and the devil is me. also yeah i know i'm not the first with this idea, but there hasn't been any smut yet in the other story, and if you're reading this, i love you, but i also don't do slow burn in my own shit...often. FAST SCORCH ALL THE WAY BABY.


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